Let Us Dance
by Ocean
Summary: He has far more depth than he's given credit for, always accused of being cold and feeling nothing. But everything Seto has held inside is slowly consuming him. It demands an outlet. In this matter, Seto has lost his control. Also contains Y/Y-Complete
1. Diffusion

Disclaimer: Plain and simple. I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh.

A/N: I have decided to revise this story in hopes that it will spark the writing bug in me again. Also, some of the chapters are really awful. I mean, really awful in their execution. So I hope this is tighter, and that for those of you rereading it, that you find the changes to be pleasing. For those reading for the first time, please enjoy!

This story will be dark and deal with adult themes, focusing on the extreme things people will do when they are desperate. I want to illustrate that we are not always in control of our actions, and that at times our perception can become skewed. I hope I captured Seto correctly. This has been a very difficult exercise, but I think it will help improve my writing in the long run.

I hope you enjoy this story of mine!

_ Ocean_

Let Us Dance By Ocean 

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Chapter One: Diffusion 

It was his elevator.

The extent of his ownership went so far as to have his name on the elevator, though that was not of his doing. To be truthful, he would have pointedly removed the brass name plate the first time he saw it, but that wouldn't have been proper behavior for an employee of the company. Especially considering that he was the president of said industrious company.

Those employees who envied him were fools to believe that his higher position afforded him any sense of luxury. True, he was often surrounded by an opulence that few others experienced, but that was where the benefits ended. His position of power forced him to adhere to a higher standard than the rest of the employees. While they merely worked for the company, he represented it. He was the physical and emotional personification of the full supremacy of Kaiba Corporation. A man in such a position of power was expected to act in a very precise and business-like manner.

It was his elevator.

Seto's mannerisms had been shaped by the company that built him. His handshake was firm and brief. His strides were long, confident, and flowing. He held his body in a tall and solid pose that demanded recognition when he entered a room and obedient respect for the duration of his stay. No delays were accepted, no smiles, no questions. It was insisted that the job be done, and that it was done correctly the first time.

And that it was done better than everyone else. Every time.

It was _his_ elevator.

He would have sighed if it were allowed. But a sigh could be interpreted as annoyance, or impatience, or any myriad of other negative emotions that had the potential to jeopardize an impending deal. It was bad business to let your competitors know anything about you other than the fact that you were better than them. The position of control could not be sacrificed for something as trivial as emotion.

Many things were considered trivial when it came to the survival of the company. A personal life... a life outside the corporation was simply unacceptable. He had no time for self-indulgence. Such desires had to be hidden, and deeply; pushed so close together that their energy pooled into one solid force waiting for a target. He had no time for friends, or even mere acquaintances outside of the company itself. For a business as active as Kaiba Corporation, a company that was continuously growing and reaching into new and exciting territory needed the full and undivided attention of the man in charge of its expansion.

To emphasize the company's point, there had been the addition of a small room branching off from Seto's office. It contained a small bed, an alarm clock, and a dresser of drawers full of business attire and dress shirts. And a black phone on the nightstand. The room had to have a phone. The president had to be available at all hours of the day or night. The corporation had international affiliations and contracts, and it was no excuse to not conduct business simply because it was one in the morning in Japan and the president was sleeping.

It _was_ his elevator.

He rarely made it home anymore. It simply wasn't worth the effort. No sooner would he walk through the front door would he be met with a messenger informing him that he was needed back at the office. He was always needed back at the office. The office always needed him. The _company_ always needed him. How could he leave the one place where he was so needed?

His eyes took a moment to fight against their training and look to the side. The rest of him remained perfectly still, tall, and proud. There was no one else in the elevator with him – not even a security camera. For the first time in countless hours there were no questions or inquiries or... or anything, at all. It was just... quiet. A bland, stifling kind of quiet that strung itself around him like string, promising that, soon, he would be needed again.

But no one was watching him now.

It was his _elevator_.

So why couldn't he put his damn briefcase _down_?

His eyes took another rebellious step and lowered to the floor just in front of his shoes, taking no notice of the bland Berber carpet. It was an act of expression that would have caused concern amongst his employees and triumph in his adversaries. The movement of his eyes was as much a signal of his internal strife as would have been the tensing of his body or an irritated tone in his voice.

It was a slip he could not afford, but one that had been a long time in coming. It was so subtle that he wasn't even aware it had happened.

Music pierced the stillness inside the elevator. His hand clenched more tightly around the handle of his briefcase. It was another slip, another emotive action that belied the calm that he exuded.

He didn't react to the childish sound his briefcase was emitting. Seto Kaiba, president of Kaiba Corporation, did not react to such things. Seto Kaiba, elder brother of one Mokuba Kaiba, may have been slightly amused at his sibling's effort to gain his attention. If he had had the time to consider his brother's cleverness. Right now, though, the company needed him.

He retrieved his cell phone from the briefcase and quickly brought it to his ear. "What?"

"_Sir?_" the voice on the other end of the line questioned. The employees were always surprised when the president answered his phone after just a few rings. He was usually so busy that they were forced to leave urgent voicemails and hope that he would call them back in time to solve the crisis. The man took a breath to compose himself_. "Sir, we have a problem._"

Seto repressed a sigh at the hauntingly familiar words. "Which unit?"

"_Unit 273-R, sir. It failed the environmental test again._"

Seto lowered his cell phone from his ear and pressed it soundly against his chest, hiding the frown pulling on his features. He was all too aware of the temperamental nature of Unit 273-R. This was the third time it had failed to make it through the cycle, which meant that another six hours had been wasted. Another six hours of work with absolutely nothing to show other than an ineffective product. It was a waste of money for the company. It was a waste of time for everyone who had to baby-sit the unit until the cycle was finished. It also made for very unhappy, unsatisfied customers.

He raised his cell phone to his ear, his fingers clenching the small device in frustration. He ignored the questions that were spilling through the ear piece. "Fix it."

"_I - what?_" The employee spluttered around his surprise, stumbling over his words. "_But... but we've been trying, sir! I know we're supposed to ship it in the morning, but we don't have time to run it again - _"

"Why not?" Seto demanded through clenched teeth.

"_All the salary people are due to go home in an hour. It's ten o'clock at night, sir! People want to go home._"

Again, Seto was forced to lower his phone to prevent himself from screaming at his employee. People wanted to go home because it was late. How fortunate for them that they were allowed to go home every day at the same time, regardless of what was going on with the company. They had put in their work for the day and were now ready to call it a night. It wasn't as if the brunt of the failure of the company to make contract would affect _them_ directly. After all, they weren't in charge. They didn't have the perk of being responsible.

An abrupt craving swelled within Seto to leave the building. Immediately. It came fast and it came strong and with such unexpected force that he swayed from the impact and had to reach his arm out to the wall to brace himself. It felt like his head was floating above the clouds and had forgotten to invite the rest of him along. Adrenaline flooded his veins and increased his heart rate to a ridiculous pace. His skin felt tight and itchy. His breath was harsh, shallow, rapid, and completely incapable of pulling in sufficient amounts of air.

A trickle of fear skidded over his mind. He'd never had such a strong panic attack before. He'd never had one catch him so unexpectedly like this, or nearly knock him off his feet.

He was unaware of his gasping breath, or that his body was trembling with panicked energy. The cool air of the elevator felt as hot and heavy as flaming coals as it scraped over his tongue and down his throat. Perspiration beaded on his lips and forehead and filmed over his palms. His mind was smeared with thoughts and emotions he didn't recognize and couldn't believe were his own.

Slowly, slowly, the panic began to subside and dissolve into a heightened state of alertness, allowing Seto to hear the worried voice coming over his cell phone. His eyes snapped over to the fist that gripped the phone and stayed there, wide and clear, yet completely unfocused. Their blue color was a touch lighter than it should have been, his pupils a bit more dilated with the adrenaline pumping through him. Anyone who saw his eyes would have known something was very wrong. Only...

... only no one could see him here. He was in his elevator. In _his_ company. No one had seen him like this. He hadn't betrayed anything to anyone...

"_Sir?_"

Licking his dry lips, Seto forced himself to fill his lungs beyond capacity and hold the painful breath as he straightened his posture. He didn't release the breath until he felt the fingers of dizziness begin to feel their way around his senses. He blinked once, unhurriedly, and slid his tongue along his teeth, grounding himself with the action of self-comfort.

"_Sir? Is everything... okay?_"

Oh, the desire to flee was still present. Very, very much so. But he was Seto Kaiba. He didn't acknowledge desire outside the success of the company. He didn't _have_ desires outside the company. He didn't give in to desire, period. But...

... but as he raised his phone back to his ear, and the uncertain voice on the other end tried to capture his attention, and his heart continued to pound against his chest and his skin twitched with anxious unease...

"Run it again. Bring in the hourly people if you must, but you are not leaving until that unit has been shipped. Do it now." Seto turned off his phone before his employee had a chance to complain.

... yet as he stood with his cell by his ear and his briefcase hanging from his arm, not once having been released while Seto had been in his elevator...

His cell phone rang again.

... that desire to flee that he refused to indulge continued to dance and push and pull at his senses as it tried to coax him to - just this once - accept the temptation and with it run off into the comforting seclusion of night.

In the silence of the elevator Seto couldn't drown out the scintillating voice of rebellion that whispered in his ears.

There was another shrill ring from his phone. Seto turned his eyes to see who was calling him this time around. After a moment's pause, he turned and quite calmly swung out his leg and kicked the wall of the elevator. Satisfied, he pulled himself together and brought the phone to his ear.

"What?" His voice, again, was noncommittal.

As his secretary began to explain the reason behind her call, Seto's eyes wandered aimlessly over to the wall he had just reacquainted himself with. His fingers tightened around his briefcase... and then casually relaxed in an uncharacteristic display of ease.

There was a scuff mark on the wall from where he had kicked it. He looked at it curiously before dismissing it completely. It didn't really matter.

It was his elevator, after all.

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_"Took you long enough, Seto."_

"Patience is a virtue you refuse to learn."

A soft chuckle floated over the phone. _"It's not like I've ever seen it put into practice, Onii-san."_

A smirk tugged at the corner of Seto's lip, but failed to induce a larger expression of amusement as he clamped his free hand over his ear in an effort to drown out the noise. The club he had stumbled upon during his erratic walk through the city was bright and excessively loud. He mused over the fact that he had never heard of the establishment, and about the few people mulling around outside its doors. It looked like nothing more than an obscure hole in the wall that only the unfortunate or else very deliberate would ever find.

That smirk finally made its way onto Seto's face.

_"Geeze, where are you? That place is making more noise than our stockbrokers,"_ Mokuba commented as he was forced to hold his phone away from his ear at the sheer volume of the club's music.

"Out of the way, hopefully," Seto said while he stared at the club's inviting front doors. The bouncer, though he wore a neat shirt and slacks, was lacking in presence and appeared to be more interested in the two scantly clad women standing on the corner than in anyone who might want to enter the club. This meant that Seto most likely wouldn't be recognized and no questions would be raised about why he was at a club rather than the office. It was the perfect place.

_"It's after two, Seto,"_ Mokuba said softly when his brother had been quiet for a while. _"It would be nice, if, you know, if you weren't at the office that you might come home for a while. Not long! But just, you know..."_ The request lingered in the air, supported by the concern Mokuba felt for his brother. He knew how dedicated Seto was to the company. He also knew the toll that dedication was taking on both his brother's physical and emotional health.

Mokuba felt as though he was standing on the edge of a giant deserted beach, watching it crumble grain by grain as the ocean's waves beat harshly at its shore. Through the sparse conversations and brief encounters with his brother, Mokuba was being forced to keep his distance as he witnessed his beloved sibling's methodical decline. He hated it with a passion, but all his attempts to reconnect with his brother had failed. He was at a lost at what to do, so he resorted to trying to soften the blows hurled at Seto's shore.

Seto vaguely heard his brother's plea on the edge of his senses, but the energetic and rhythmic pulse of the bass-laden music of the club was far too alluring to ignore. It was tantalizing, soothing, almost hypnotic in nature as its double beat invited one to unsheathe their restraints and give in to the call of the night. Seto knew he was being seduced, knew it was a ploy to lure him into the hornet's nest. But there in lied the difference between him and so many others. He was aware of the deception and welcomed it with open arms.

"Eat something before you go to bed, Mokuba," Seto said distractedly. The comment was not without merit, and he was not as unobservant as Mokuba thought he was towards him. His thinning frame and dulled features had not escaped Seto's notice, and the older brother within was dreadfully concerned for Mokuba's welfare. But in all honesty, Seto didn't have a clue how to rescue Mokuba from his demons when he himself was so completely controlled by his own.

The phone was immediately shoved into his coat pocket and forgotten as the allure of the club completed its web and dragged him through its open doors. The air inside was not so eager to see him, its harsh and thick smell of sweat and alcohol mixing into an abrasive fragrance. That heady scent should have been repulsive. It should have made Seto want to turn and run for safety. But it was precisely the reason the air smelled so foul that made Seto's decision to remain in the club absolute. It was the smell of sweat that spoke of the excitement, the desire, the effort and the want of the bodies inside. The alcohol resembled the freedom of inhibitions, the freedom to choose to liberate and eliminate all metaphorical bindings that kept one from being true. In no way did it resemble the acrid smell of the cleaning solutions used religiously at the office, and on that reason alone Seto fully embraced the new fragrance.

The lighting was a far second to the impact of the club's aroma. There were no dramatic pulses of light, no randomizing of color through their spectrum or dizzying arrays of strobe-lights to mute out the details and sharpen the images. Red lights recessed in the ceiling created a hazy shadow along the surface of the people and things within the club. Along with the darkened windows, the minimal lighting created an atmosphere of such complete ambiguity that Seto found the layers of his identity easily melt away.

Kaiba Corporations didn't exist here. It was probably never even heard of.

Perfect.

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_to be continued..._


	2. Abstrict

**Let Us Dance**

_By Ocean_

**Chapter Two: Abstrict**

Seto headed further into the obscure club, bypassing the raised gaming region and the men gathered around one of the pool tables. He skirted the edges of the small area sectioned off as a dance floor and eyed suspiciously the lone microphone that stood quietly in the corner as he made his way to an empty table against the wall. The small candle on the table flickered in the breeze created by the haste of Seto's need to sit and distance himself from the crowd.

"Can I get you something, Hun?"

The waitress had descended on him like hot coals, and after her departure with a scrub of his table and a presumed drink order, left him feeling burned and heated to the point he felt he needed to remove his coat or else die from exposure. When one arm was free and his other hand clutching his hair, Seto forced himself to stop, to breathe, to think, and to remember where he was. He swallowed thickly, his swollen tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, and proceeded to remove his jacket, tossing it onto the table.

A few moments later the waitress returned with his drink, winking at him as she set it on the table and moved on to her next customer. Seto stared at the drink for a long moment, contemplating, before dipping his fingers just below the wet surface and combing them through his hair. The alcohol on his fingertips tingled when it came in contact with his scalp and burned lightly when it was exposed to the air.

He wasn't sure why he had done it. In hindsight the gesture had probably been an act of self-comfort, an aid to help ground himself and qualm the panic that was ever more present and volatile. Increasingly he was discovering that physical contact was the only means he could employ to break the hold of the nervous energy that boiled in his stomach and infected his mind. The sense of his own touch was all that protected him anymore. And even this security was beginning to fail. His touch was becoming as routine as the stresses it was meant to subdue.

Gasps followed by a chorus of cheers and one loud shout of disbelief pierced the small club, heard with surprising ease over the pulsing music. Seto turned his eyes towards the sound coming from his left, not really interested, more wanting something to do to combat his unease.

The crowd around the pool table shifted like waves as the people maneuvered so they could better see the players. Money exchanged hands while new wagers were made and the excitement for the next game slowly began to rebuild. The end of two pool cues could be seen like periscopes above the crowd, but their owners remained hidden from view until there was a part in the waters and their profiles were suddenly revealed.

Seto choked on his breath as the crowd submerged the two players again, the recognition of that profile freezing his mind and body into complete stillness. The chiseled features of his rival could hardly be mistaken. It was a face he had memorized as he had tried to find some sign of weakness on the other end of the dueling arena. But the spirit of the Millennium Puzzle was one of the few people Seto could not intimidate into submission, and this memory alone was enough to make his skin prickle and his pulse quicken.

He and Yami were similar in many ways, including their attitude that any place they were in was automatically _their_ territory. Yami was perhaps even more territorial than Seto, his years of imprisonment instilling in him a possessive streak that demanded he lay claim to all he saw to insure he would never again be so confined. It took little more than his presence and will to stake his claim, and Seto felt himself bristle mechanically in response to the abrasive challenge. He had little intention of acting on it however, and in fact felt more like he had walked into a lion's den and that it would be best for him to remain anonymous. The fact that he was in the bar at all was evidence enough that he was in no condition to confront Yami.

The crowd parted again, this time stepping back to a respectable distance to allow Yami and his opponent the room needed to play. Seto's grip around his drink tightened as Yami came into full view. He didn't know why his reaction was so strong. But it happened every time he saw the spirit. It had happened every time since the moment he was first defeated by him, and the intensity of his reactions was increasing beyond his control.

Yami was seated on the edge of the pool table, one leg bent teasingly over the plush surface while he tilted his head against his cue stick. He gestured behind himself with his free arm, his finger hooking in a manner that both asked and demanded it be answered. Seto narrowed his eyes as Yuugi sauntered through the crowd, walking the path created for him as he lovingly took Yami's outstretched hand in his own and circled in front of him. Seto wasn't surprised to see Yuugi. He and Yami were almost never parted. But he certainly didn't appreciate his presence as Yuugi nuzzled Yami's ear and thread his fingers through his hair. It was a show of affectionate ownership that soured Seto's stomach. He had never accepted public displays of any sort that weren't business in nature. Such acts offended him because he was being forced to witness an intimacy he wanted no knowledge of.

Nor was he in any mood to deal with one Motou Yuugi. Though he was not his main rival, there was much in Yuugi that Seto found threatening. His skill with words and the ability to get one to admit their deepest secrets without intent to do so made him a very dangerous rival of anyone who had something to hide. And lord knew Seto had many things to hide. Unfortunately for him, so did Yuugi.

Seto watched the quiet exchange between soul partners, Yuugi answering Yami's question after a moment of consideration and disappearing back into the crowd when Yami accepted his answer. Seto's eyes remained on Yami, watching as the spirit stood slowly and smirked in a manner that announced his impending victory. Seto ground his teeth as Yami played, lengthening and flexing the game to suit his roguish will.

His table shook suddenly as someone came and sat in the empty chair, but Seto didn't notice the intrusion. His focus was entirely on the graceful pool player with flowing hair and limbs that played with his opponent as a cat would with a fish in a bowl. He didn't move or blink. At one point he even ceased his breath as he focused his every sense on the single image that had brought him peace since his panic had first taken root.

"Pretty, isn't he?"

It took several moments for the question to register with Seto, though it only penetrated enough to elicit a soft hum in response. And it was this that captured Seto's attention and turned his head to the face that was watching him as intently as he had been watching Yami.

Seto scoffed at the look he was being given and matched it with one of his own. "What do _you_ want?"

Yuugi raised his eyebrow at the irritated question. "I saw you sitting here." There was no response other than Seto's stern glare. "This isn't your part of town."

Seto chuckled darkly. "Don't I know it."

If Yuugi was dissatisfied with the response he didn't show it as he reached forward and took Seto's untouched drink. His actions, again, went unnoticed as Seto's gaze had been magnetically drawn back to the pool table. Yuugi took a long, slow sip from his stolen drink as he studied Seto over the rim of the glass. He could tell Seto was ill at ease through the stiff manner he held himself and the coat that was flung carelessly on the table. Seto was never careless about anything he did, be it straightening his desk or removing his clothes for the evening. It was a red flag to someone like Yuugi, a scream of alarm that muted out any noise the club could make.

Yuugi wasn't usually suspicious around Seto, though he did treat their encounters with a cautious flare. A man as powerful as Seto demanded such an attitude. But Yuugi had an instinct for knowing when something wasn't as it should be, and right now the sirens of warning were beginning their litany of wails.

"You didn't enter the last tournament," Yuugi said.

Seto's finger taped lightly against the table. "I wasn't interested."

A pause. "I find that very difficult to believe." Yuugi played his finger around the rim of his glass, his searching gaze fading off over the crowd and towards the gaming area and Yami. Seto took the opportunity to steal a glance at Yuugi, to notice that _this_ Yuugi was not the one who walked with his friends down the street or manned the game shop when Sugoroku was unable. _This_ Yuugi was someone very different. If there was one thing Seto knew, it was the difference between who a person truly was and the mask they showed to the world.

"Kaiba Corporations hosted the tournament," Yuugi pressed over the cheers that erupted around Yami's latest shot.

"Imagine my surprise," Seto drawled. "Too bad I wasn't informed."

Seto turned his eyes to Yuugi, and the two stared at each other while Yami won his game and those who had bet correctly on the outcome collected their winnings. It was the continuation of the challenge that had risen between them since the moment Yuugi had confronted Seto's intrusion onto his and Yami's territory. Seto tried to suppress the anger that clenched his jaw and hands, tried to swallow pass the urgent need to flee from Yuugi's emotionless gaze. Yuugi's eyes stared at him blankly, revealing nothing as the jaunty tilt of his head and the thin line of his lips indicated very clearly his agitation and willingness to fight.

A man with a very sour expression saved Seto from being the first to look away as he roughly set down two drinks and a basket full of chicken wings in front of Yuugi, the price he had to pay for loosing the game to Yami. He glared a promised threat at Yuugi, who ignored him completely while he gathered his gifts and nodded his head in thanks in Yami's direction. Seto watched the brief exchange curiously, not noticing the bead of sweat that tickled its way down the back of his neck.

He turned back to Yuugi. "That's all he plays for?"

Yuugi glared at him from beneath his bangs. "He likes to give me what I want." His tone was remarkably flat for the implied sentiment of the words. Seto didn't have to guess that he had severely insulted him, and though this worried him slightly, it wasn't enough to dissuade him from pressing the matter further.

"To spend so much time to gain so little," Seto nodded his head at the items on the table, "I see no reason to engage in such useless endeavors."

Seto was surprised when Yuugi didn't try to defend himself. He had expected an aggressive retort, especially based on Yuugi's recent behavior. He was actually looking forward to sparring. A fight with words was familiar ground, something he was use to, and he needed to feel something familiar again. Yuugi's refusal to partake in the game only left Seto feeling more off balance. He was in a part of town where he didn't belong in a club he shouldn't be aware of with a person who antagonized him and experiencing feelings that were so foreign and erratic he had nearly lost all hope of finding home. The sweat continued to bead on his skin as he absently unbuttoned the collar of his shirt.

A fast tempo exploded in the club, pounding against Seto's eardrums painfully. Yuugi's drinks vibrated with the music that was too loud, and yet was at just the right volume to create a mood of excitement and energy that seeped its way into Seto's very being. He watched as people slowly filled the empty space of the dance floor, swaying in rhythm to the music. He watched as Yami sauntered into the middle of the crowd, grabbed the hand of the nearest woman, and spun her around as the two picked up the beat.

Seto's jaw dropped at the sight, the moves Yami and his dance partner were going through on the brink of being inappropriate in their suggestiveness. Their moves were quick, close, and sensual, much more indicative of the dance of lovers than that of strangers. Seto found himself entranced by Yami's movements, his pupils dilating in response to his body's sudden arousal, his mind automatically analyzing the fluid and flexible dance Yami guided both him and his partner through.

It wasn't long before Yami gave himself completely to the dance, his eyes sharp in crystal clearness with an engaged stare that never ventured from his partner. The woman was breathing heavily through her mouth as she tried to keep up with Yami's ever increasing pace. The smile on her face was slowly giving way to fatigue, and it wasn't long before she found herself abandoned for a dance partner that was fresh and light on her feet. Yami showed no signs of feeling the effort of his first dance at all.

Seto expected the woman Yami had first danced with to be angered by her sudden dismal, but all he could see was the breathless smile on her face and the exhilaration in her eyes. He didn't understand until he looked at the situation more closely, at the small circle that had formed around Yami, the women who stood in line as jittery as children waiting at an ice-cream truck, and the men who stood disapprovingly to the side that this was not a one time occurrence. This was something common, something expected. It was something Yami had done before.

"You come here often," Seto commented.

Yuugi took his time in answering, and in that space his voice lost its edge of confidence and was replaced with a hint of sadness. "Often enough."

Seto instantly noticed the change in tone. He was trained in detecting weakness in his opponent, and to him the underlying longing in Yuugi's voice rang a bell that echoed in his own heart. It was still difficult for him to turn his eyes from Yami's erotic dancing, but his predatory nature was eager to assert its dominance.

When he did look at Yuugi, his gaze fell upon a man who had slipped into another zone. His posture was slouched as he rested his forearms on the table. His eyes were distant as he looked out onto the dance floor, idly trailing Yami and his latest partner while they glided through their steps. Though his inherent strength was still quite apparent, Seto could easily tell that Yuugi was more vulnerable now than he had ever wanted Seto to know.

Seto observed Yuugi quietly before offering his comments. "You let him dance, even though it bothers you."

Yuugi shot Seto a glare that quickly melted into a sorrowful expression before he turned away. "Let," he began. "You say that like I have some sort of authority over him. Or that he needs my permission."

"Doesn't he? For something like this?" Seto accused.

"Yami doesn't need my permission for anything." Yuugi's tone was filled with bitterness, and he followed his response with the downing of one of his drinks. Now he was refusing to look Seto in the eye after so easily challenging him and Seto knew he had hit on a very raw nerve.

"So why?"

Seto was genuinely curious why Yuugi would allow Yami to not only partake in, but initiate an activity that obviously bothered him. The more partners Yami danced with, the more uneasy Yuugi became, shifting nervously in his seat as he watched Yami's movements become more and more energetic. Yami was at a point where he needed three partners per dance, his energy showing no bounds and his actions no care. Seto noticed Yuugi wince when the next song began and Yami chose yet another partner.

"Why do you let him do it?" Seto demanded again. "I don't get you! Never would I allow someone to hurt me like this!" He couldn't understand why Yuugi was putting up with it, why he sat in the corner like a scared little mouse and watched the cat play. He would never be the mouse. He would never allow another to be in such a position of control over him. His company was the only entity of power he tolerated, and even that was a great strain on him. Were he in Yuugi's position, Seto would have demanded that Yami cease his dancing at once. He would have demanded that Yami-

"... because he needs to," Yuugi said softly.

Seto stared at the man sitting across the table.

"You're an idiot."

Yuugi clenched his eyes shut and turned his head away, hiding his face in the shadows of the club. Seto thought he saw him bite his lower lip and his brows furrow, which only served to confuse him more.

Yuugi slammed his hand suddenly on the table, making Seto jump as his hand was brushed by Yuugi's fingertips. Ice shot up his arm from the point of contact, numbing his skin and mind and thoughts. He took a quick, ragged gasp of air. For that brief moment of skin-on-skin contact, all of Seto's doubt and insecurity, his feeling of being on the edge of his sanity, his panic and fear – all of it, for that single moment, stilled.

It was so near a climatic experience that he almost lost himself to the bliss.

Thankfully the music of the club was loud enough to swallow the minute squeak that escaped Seto's lips when Yuugi pulled his hand away. Seto nearly found himself lunging across the table for Yuugi's hand, his panic returning tenfold when his source of comfort was taken from him. He had never suspected that something as simple as someone else's touch could have such a profound affect on his distress. Even his own touch had never provided such solace.

He wanted more. He wanted to feel that stillness again. That calm that so fervently eluded him as it danced just on the tips of his fingers.

"You misunderstand me," Yuugi forced out his clenched throat.

"What?" Seto asked, forcing himself back into the conversation.

"You don't understand," Yuugi repeated, though it was said more to himself than it was to Seto. "He doesn't have a choice. If he didn't he'd... he'd die..." Yuugi's voice cracked as he spoke, the pain of his words slicing him deeply.

Seto's eyes widened in surprise, but he remained silent as he waited for the shivering form in front of him to continue his explanation. Though _why_ Yuugi was going to explain it to him he didn't know, but he had to admit he wanted to know the reason that brought his most seductive rival to an out of the way bar to dance with such reckless abandon.

"You don't realize the power his magic has. You don't know how hard it is for him," Yuugi said.

"He certainly doesn't show it," Seto said skeptically.

Yuugi looked at him from the corner of his eye. "You expect him to? Don't be daft." He paused as Seto answered with a haughty snort. "It isn't Yami's nature to advertise his weakness any more than it is yours. Why else do you think we come here? It's so he won't be seen."

There was a quiet moment before Yuugi continued that allowed Seto to focus on the one word he was certain Yuugi never meant to say to him. The one word he refused to acknowledge in regards to himself, but pounced on when it was used for others.

_Weakness_.

Though for some reason, Seto felt a pang of sympathy for Yami. It didn't sit well with him that the one he considered to be his strongest rival would have any weakness at all.

"His magic, it's only energy when you get down to it," Yuugi continued. "He manipulates energy to do his will."

"The Shadows-"

"No, it's not the Shadows. They are completely independent of Yami's magic. His magic is based on energy. The Shadows' magic is based on life." Yuugi chuckled darkly at this, leaving Seto to wonder about him and the statement. Yuugi waved it away. "Whatever. The amount of magic Yami has... it's near infinite. And it's constant. Energy never disappears. It just builds up until it is used and put elsewhere. It builds without any regard to hi- ... to anything. And too much energy, well, we all know what can happen then."

Seto rolled his tongue in his mouth as he listened to what Yuugi was telling him. "So... he comes here to release the excess build up of energy." He took Yuugi's silence as the conformation it was. "And to use his magic..."

"Too dangerous."

"What's the best alternative?"

"Sex."

Seto blinked in surprise at the bluntness of Yuugi's response. He would not have expected him to be so comfortable about it, and yet Yuugi had answered with all the ease of telling someone his eye color.

Yuugi picked up on Seto's next question before it was voiced. "Sex is the most strenuous activity you can put your body through. It takes a lot of energy. But for what he needs... I can't give him what he needs. It would simply be too much for me. And he refuses to share his bed with anyone else." Yuugi said this last line with a bit of pride and a small smile on his lips. "And so, we come here so he can dance. As long as he needs to."

Yuugi pushed his chair back and stood, leaning against the table, his posture indicating clearly to Seto that their conversation was over. Seto watched him as he made his way to the dance floor, maneuvering between the dancing bodies like a quiet breeze that goes by unnoticed. It was curious how invisible Yuugi could make himself when he didn't want to be bothered with people. He didn't disappear; he just sort of melted into the haze of his surroundings. The effect was very creepy, and was probably the reason for the few yelps of surprise Seto heard coming from the women who were still waiting to dance with Yami.

He watched as Yuugi walked up behind Yami and placed his hand on his shoulder. His face was full of a sadness Seto couldn't identify, even though he felt it was familiar. Yami jerked around at the touch, his features falling into clarity as though he had just woken from a trance. Yuugi leaned forward into Yami's strong chest, his hands folded gently under his chin and his face nestled in Yami's neck. Yami immediately abandoned his dance partner, ignoring both her protest and that of several other women who knew that he would not be available for the rest of the night. He circled his arms around Yuugi's shoulders and hips and held him close, bowing his head so he could press his cheek against Yuugi's ear.

Seto watched as Yami slowed his movements into a hypnotic swaying motion that rocked Yuugi gently despite the fast pace of the music. He watched Yami sigh in contentment, and Yuugi's body shiver as his worries melted away with Yami's touch. He watched as the two found a peace he had only ever heard of. He watched the healing touch Yami had on his lover, his body jumping to attention with the memory of stillness Yuugi's touch had aroused.

Seto watched for the rest of the night.

_to be continued..._


	3. Nuance

**Let Us Dance**

_By Ocean_

**Chapter Three: Nuance**

It was too bright out today.

Even with his sunglasses on, it was too bright out today.

Seto sighed quietly to himself, on the verge of being contemplative, but not really in the mood for it. He sat on the far edge of the metal bench, one leg bent over the other, one arm stretched out along the back of his seat. He blinked behind his iridescent sunglasses, his blue eyes having difficulty adjusting to the glare off the polished stone that comprised the floor of the art museum's courtyard.

This was probably the most relaxed pose he had ever had in public, though to the other art patrons he resembled a very realistic statue. He wasn't watching anything in particular, even though the tilt of his head suggested that he was observing the large and peculiar sculpture that welcomed patrons on the museum's front steps. He hadn't really come to appreciate the art, regardless of his opinion of it. It was the duty of a member of the museum, after all, to come and admire the hard earned collection of the curators. It also made a very favorable impression on the public that the president of a technological superpower was an art connoisseur. But he was a busy man, a man whose time would be better spent doing business than admiring artwork he didn't want to understand.

A flock of pigeons that had been energetically cooing in front of him suddenly took off in a flurry of feathers and wing beats. The sudden noise caught his attention and he watched them idly as they flew into the sky, tilting his head to the side while his lips adopted the semblance of a pout.

He envied those birds, to a degree. It wasn't so much that they were free, or that they could take off and hide whenever they wanted. Seto never aspired to such notions of fancy. It had never been in his nature to dream outside of reality. No, he admired those birds for the simple reason that no one _expected anything_ of them at any time other than to be what they were. They could do what they wanted without interruption and not break any rules or disappoint any expectations. If they wanted to sit in the shade and do nothing, they could. If they wanted to squawk at the top of their lungs in the middle of the night, they could. If they wanted to sit above a particularly pristine car for hours on end, they could. They were allowed the freeing notion of no expectation. He simply was not.

It must have been a wonderful sensation. Too bad it was wasted on creatures who couldn't appreciate such a gift.

His night at the club, four short days ago, hadn't ended well in his opinion. He had stayed until the late hours of morning, just watching. Watching Yuugi fall into a protective and possessive embrace around Yami, fingertips trailing through his hair and over the skin of his neck, never trailing from his side or allowing another to come near. He had watched as Yami relaxed and melted sensuously into Yuugi's soft touches and petting. Seto had found himself cataloging every move the two made, every reaction elicited, every sound Yami emitted and every tilt of his body in response to Yuugi's touch. The observation was unconscious, but it was one that left a vibrant stain on his memory.

He had been late for his meeting that morning, which certainly wasn't an experience he was familiar with. He was caught unaware, it made his employees nervous, and his secretary had been at a lost when he hadn't summoned his morning coffee. When asked if anything was wrong, if anything beyond his control had occurred to make him late to a meeting _he_ had arranged, Seto had been unable to do more than straighten his posture and glare a warning against questioning at his inquisitors.

He couldn't have told them he was late because he had lost all sense of time while he watched another man dance at a local bar. Business would have come to a halt while the company devised a plan on how best to hide the scandalous action.

One of the pigeons that had scuttled away a few moments before languidly returned, setting itself down on the bench beside Seto, just beyond the reach of his bent leg. Seto resolutely ignored the bird, keeping his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses and looking out across the courtyard. The pigeon was not offended by this treatment, responding by cleaning its feathers and settling in for a nap.

Seto felt the childish impulse to chase the bird off of his bench. He settled for glaring at the bird from behind the safety of his sunglasses.

Then he realized he was battling over territory with a bird.

Seto pursed his lips. Not only was he in competition with a bird, he was also feeling satisfaction that he was winning. Winning against a bird. It took a moment, but Seto finally allowed himself this victory. It wasn't as though he had had much else to celebrate these past few months.

The pigeon cooed softly in surprise when a shadow fell over it, startling it from its nap. Reluctant to abandon its perch, it was eventually persuaded to do so when a hand waved lazily over its head. The shadow morphed into the shape of a young man with long black hair, his head cocked to the side and his arms crossed in amusement. A soft chuckle interrupted Seto's thoughts.

"I can't believe you were competing with a bird!"

Seto smirked at the snickering voice of his brother. "All victories are accepted."

"But a bird!" Mokuba laughed as he took a seat next to Seto. Seto made no move to welcome his brother, but he also didn't shy away when his arm brushed against his leg. Though the smirk never left his lips, there was little else Seto could offer to assure his brother that he enjoyed his company. "I can't believe you would stoop so low, Onii-san."

"Times change. People... change."

Mokuba eyed his sibling from beneath his long bangs, frowning at Seto's distant and cold expression and the sudden harshness of his posture. He knew there was a double meaning to his brother's words. They were most likely an unconscious admission coupled with an acute observation of the unhealthy habits the siblings had recently adopted. Mokuba shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the sudden nervousness that tightened his chest. He had always been the first to herald his brother's accomplishments, the one who supported Seto without questioning or doubting his abilities. It didn't settle well with him that he no longer had the blinding faith in his brother that he once had.

"Seto, I..." Mokuba started, pausing when Seto failed to acknowledge him. He took a deep breath and held it, sighing its release as he tried to put his emotions into words that could reach his brother. "I've noticed... I've seen you... I... damn it... Are you alright, Seto?"

There was a long moment of silence as Mokuba waited for his question to be answered. The heat of the sun felt cold on his skin as the moments turned into minutes and his fears morphed into reality. A chill skirted its way up his spine, forcing Mokuba to pull his oversized shirt tightly around himself to stave off the cold.

Seto raised his eyebrow in accusation as he watched Mokuba pull at his shirt. "Cold, are you? On a day like this?" He raised his arm and picked despairingly at Mokuba's shirt, tsking when it became apparent just how big the shirt was. "And oversized clothes? Did you really think they were sufficient enough to hide the fact that you are _still_ not eating from me?"

Mokuba tensed further and shied away from the blatant disapproval, wrapping his arms protectively around his middle and ducking his head to the side. He knew this diversionary tactic well, and knew that once Seto had his mind set on something there was no persuading him otherwise. Although this time, Mokuba had the distinct impression that Seto's mind was actually miles away. It was a dead giveaway when he taped his foot so irritably.

"I'm doing the best I can," Mokuba said quietly, "as I'm sure you are. What else can we do?"

Seto considered this, the taping of his foot forgotten as he slowly stood and smoothed the fabric of his sleeves. He tilted his head to the sky, squinting against the glare of the sun and absently watching the flock of pigeons resettle themselves in the shade of the nearest tree. He considered making one of many comments about Mokuba's unhealthy eating habits, abandoning the thought as he knew it would pass on deaf ears, just as Mokuba's words passed unheard over him. He looked over his shoulder at the small and thinning form of his brother, a sheen of compassion flashing over his eyes before he blinked it away.

"Where are you going?" Mokuba called out after Seto when he started to walk away.

Seto waved his hand over his shoulder, his thoughts long ago turned to the task ahead. Mokuba had unknowingly stirred the panic that now lived so close to the surface. He had tried to quell the nervous energy that had been lit in the club those few nights ago. He had tried to ignore the practiced turning of his mind as the solution to his problem was identified and the means of acquiring it supplied.

This meeting with Mokuba had showed Seto that he was on the verge of being discovered, that his actions were not as carefully hidden as he had believed. He wasn't foolish enough to think himself in control – he knew he was anything but – but he had thought he at least still had the capability to fool others.

"I'm going to take care of this," Seto said over his shoulder. "I advise you do the same before you find yourself in my position."

Mokuba frowned at his brother's retreating form; the sadness remaining even after Seto disappeared from sight.

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Her birthday was in a week and she was excited. Her mom had told her that on her ninth birthday she would be allowed to invite a few friends to the local zoo's slumber party, held every night during the summer months. Brown curls bounced around her head as she danced in place, the excitement of the impending event filling her with the jittery energy all children enjoy and her parents wished she didn't have.

She looked up from the orange lollipop she held tightly in her hand, holding it safely away from her right hand as she had been instructed to do. Golden eyes searched the sidewalk for the tall man who had bought her the lollipop from the candy cart on the corner as she absently drew the candy across her already orange tongue. She had readily agreed to the favor he had asked of her in return for buying the lollipop, her need for attention outweighing the caution instilled in her by her parents in regards to strangers. She didn't even question when the man had wrapped a white bandage around her right palm, even though her hand wasn't injured.

An orange tongue paused in mid-lick when the man she had been waiting for walked around the corner and headed her way. She was able to recognize him by the funny cut of his hair, his vibrant red angled eyes, and the long-sleeved crew-neck burnt sunset colored shirt he wore. He looked just as the man who had bought her the lollipop described. Steeling herself, she dropped the remainder of her lollipop, spread her fingers wide, and charged.

"Pardon me?!" Yami questioned the air as the child latched herself around his waist.

Yami was able to stumble to a halt even with the jarring impact from the man walking behind him bumping into him. The pedestrian was ignored as Yami reached down and took hold of the girl's upper arms in an effort to balance both her and him so neither would fall to the pavement. To say he was surprised would be an understatement. He wasn't adverse to children, but he certainly wasn't used to them charging blindly at him and clinging like a puppy to its chew toy.

"Hi!"

Yami gawked in open confusion. An enthusiastic greeting was something else he didn't often experience. Looking down into her glowing eyes and sparkling smile only served to confuse him more, which in turn caused her to giggle at the funny faces he was making. She hugged him more tightly, pushing her hands up under the back of his shirt and pressing her palms flat against the bare of his back in her excitement.

He gently strengthened the hold he had on her forearms in an effort to encourage the girl to release him, but she showed her child's resistance by tightening her grip on him and laughing. Features pulling into an annoyed frowned, Yami pulled on her arms a little more forcefully in a futile attempt to persuade her that releasing him was a good idea.

"I would ask that you release me," he said.

And again the child laughed, this time turning her head and pressing her cheek firmly against Yami's stomach. He shifted his weight against the embrace, not exactly comfortable with the feel of the girl's hands and rough bandage pressed against his skin. After a few more feeble attempts to get her to let go, Yami resigned himself to the child's hug, acknowledging that once a child took hold of you there was very little you could do about it other than wait them out. He sighed wistfully while he tilted his head back, dropped his arms to his sides, and settled in for the long haul.

"... twenty. Bye!"

And with that, the child disengaged herself from Yami and took off down the sidewalk, pausing only to turn around and say "You are _cute_!" before running home.

Yami concluded that this was going to be the most interesting moment of his day.

Casually Yami reached behind himself to rub the area of his back where the girl's bandage had scratched his skin, the irritation registering as nothing more than a nuisance as he continued his daily stroll down the street. He took a deep breath and sighed, the sudden tightness in his chest ignored as he focused instead on the warmth of the sun and the cooling breeze on his face.

For Yami, walking was the best form of meditation. It provided his abundant energy a small outlet of release that appeared to smooth the edges of its demanding nature and allowed him a further few hours of control. To help with this he adhered to the same routine every day, walking the same route at eleven every morning for two hours, and always alone. Once or twice Yuugi had joined him on his walks, but these instances had been when Yuugi was under great emotional strain and Yami hadn't wanted to leave him alone. And though Yuugi appreciated this sentiment, the long walks really weren't to his liking, so he found his own quiet place while Yami was out.

Yami pulled at his shirt's collar as he approached the corner of the street, the light halting further passage. He had misjudged the heat of the day, it seemed, by wearing such a heavy garment, a fact he was increasingly aware of as people gathered closely around him, also waiting for the light to change. He squinted at the sun, trying to figure out why he was so hot on a day that was not unusually so under a sun that wasn't bright. Not finding his answers in the sky he turned his gaze to the small crowd that had formed around him, blaming his discomfort on them and their close proximity.

"Surely not all of these people can be at fault for your mood."

Yami snorted his lack of amusement at the comment and stepped out into the street with the rest of the crowd. He resolutely ignored the tall form that followed him out into the street, turning the corner and lengthening his stride in an effort to distance himself from the unwanted company. The man behind him stayed quiet for the length of the block before he felt compelled to speak again.

"You look a little pale. How are you feeling?" Seto asked.

"I'm fine."

Seto chuckled quietly at Yami's irritable tone. "Well now, if that isn't a dead giveaway-"

"Shut up." Yami had hoped that walking down this side of the street where the shadows of the buildings extended onto the sidewalk would help him cool down, but even this respite wasn't able to relieve the heat he felt on his skin. Actually, he was feeling hotter now, and the quickness of his pulse only served to spread the excess heat that much faster through his body. He raised a hand to his forehead, pushing his bangs aside, and was surprised when he felt sweat on his fingertips.

Seto noticed this action, his brow creasing in alertness when Yami suddenly stopped walking with the notice of sweat on his brow. He reached forward and put a steadying hand on Yami's shoulder when he momentarily lost his balance, his red eyes closing in anything but rest. Seto bit the inside of his lower lip nervously; steeling himself against the feel of Yami's curving shoulder as he tried to analyze his deteriorating function.

"Do you have a headache?"

"Mmhmm," Yami said distractedly. Seto's voice had echoed in his ears, making his words difficult to understand. Yami had answered merely out of reflex, his thoughts turned inward to the heaviness in his head. He did have a headache, a bad one, one that was a constant pain, like the tip of an ice pick being slowly and steadily driven into various points on the inside of his skull. He pressed two fingers pointedly against his temples and began walking again. He just wanted to distance himself from the pain. That's all he could think about right now.

Seto kept his hand on Yami's shoulder as the two of them walked down the sidewalk. From the uncertain steps Yami was taking he needed the support, despite his attempt to shrug the weight off of his shoulder. Seto kept his trained eyes on Yami's form, bringing himself closer to his companion so he could occasionally brush against him. Even though Yami was fully clothed, Seto still felt his warmth prickle through the fabric and into his skin every time they came in contact, no matter how brief the contact was.

While looking up to notice which street they were approaching Seto allowed his fingers the indulgence of sliding over the curve of Yami's shoulder and down his arm, lingering on the rounded muscle of his bicep as he pulled on his sleeve lightly to guide Yami around a corner. A smile pulled at the corner of his lips when Yami both moaned and grunted at the touch. It was one of the first touches he had seen Yuugi give Yami. Seto had noticed that it acted almost like disarmament, similar to how some spiders tapped their mates in order to subdue them into accepting further advances.

Seto's eyebrows rose knowingly when Yami parted his lips, his tongue not quite making it out of his mouth as he tried to wet them. He swallowed thickly when Yami swallowed. Tilted his head when Yami winced away from an arrant sun beam that had escaped between the buildings. Shortened his stride to match the rhythm of Yami's pace and flattened his hand more fully on his arm, letting his thumb rub soothingly along the fabric of his sleeve. He considered offering Yami a drink of water from the bottle he had in his coat's pocket, but his mind froze when Yami reached up and pulled at his collar again, exposing a part of his collar bone and a sample of what lay hidden further beneath. His breath hitched when Yami reached up with his free hand and touched the fingers around his arm.

Yami was confused, lost in the sudden onslaught of heat in his body and the increased effort it took to keep his thoughts level, even though his energy was waning. Just moments before, he knew that he was walking down the main street of the city. He knew he had been an hour and ten minutes into his walk. He _knew_ that Seto had appeared unexpectedly and had begun trailing his movements. He had known all that only moments ago. But now, as he felt the hand on his arm coax him to a standstill and a body come intimately close against his back and a warm breath flow in and around his ear... All he knew now was that he was confused and uncertain and hesitant about how to make himself feel better.

"What do you want?" Seto asked, whispering into the soft hair just above Yami's ear. Yami tried to pull away from the warm sensation, whimpering unknowingly and frowning when he was unable to free himself. Seto shushed him quietly, bringing his free hand around to trail just along the edge of Yami's side, another move he had witnessed between Yuugi and Yami. He repeated his question, his voice dropping an octave as Yami shivered involuntarily at the soft, hot touches.

"... home..." Yami said, the word sounding almost painful in its quickness. Yes, he wanted to go home. At home, he wouldn't feel like this. Not like this. Home was safe. Home wasn't so unbearably hot and thick as... as wherever this was. God, he didn't even know where he was anymore.

"You want to go home?"

His breath was released harshly as the words invaded his mind. He felt them push his will aside and take charge of his thoughts, and they sounded awfully good and correct and everything that they shouldn't. Yami nodded wearily. "... wanna... want to..."

"Go home?"

"... yes."

"Alright then," Seto said as he gently maneuvered Yami into his car, which he had been guiding them towards. "I'll take you home." Yami didn't resist him, his mind too torn between the heat and his war with himself over who it was that was helping him. Once Seto had Yami settled into the passenger's seat and himself secured behind the wheel, he took a moment to sit back and look at the exquisite man beside him.

There was no questioning just how breathtaking Yami was, with his hair flared against the passenger window and his skin flushed and glistening with small beads of sweat and his breath at an intoxicating, erratic pace. Seto touched his own lips absently, fighting to keep his hands to himself as Yami shifted in his seat and hummed deep in his throat. Just that brief moment when Yami had reached up and taken his hand had been incredible. It had been the most intense, most stimulating sensation he could ever remember experiencing. All his efforts had been justified in that blissful moment of stillness. He had experienced something similar with Yuugi, only this time, his reaction had not been one of surprise and fear.

It had been one of pure jubilation.

Seto quickly started his car and pulled away from the curb. He glanced over at Yami on occasion when he would make a small sound at the car's movement. It wasn't long before Yami surrendered to keeping his eyes firmly shut against the rushing blur of color and images out his window that made him dizzy and sick to his stomach.

At a stoplight not too far from home, Seto hesitantly reached out his hand, holding it over Yami's for a moment before reaching down and firmly grasping Yami's hand. He mentally cheered when the hand reflexively closed around his own, even if it was only for a brief moment. It was long enough to satisfy him for the duration of the car ride.

Yami reached out for the handle in the door when the car had been stationary for a long while. He was vaguely aware he was in a car, momentarily confident when he heard Seto unfasten his seatbelt and open his door. But he lost all sense of orientation when he was pulled from the car and spun, Seto laying his arm supportively around Yami's hips as he guided him towards the front door. Yami's head lulled against Seto's shoulder, eventually turning purposely into it as Yami made a final effort to hide from his infliction.

Seto strengthened his grip on Yami's hips as the beautiful man in his grasp turned into him when he stumbled, looking for a more secure footing. Taking on more of his weight so they could move more quickly, Seto hurriedly made his way through the front doors, doing his best to remove himself from view as quickly as possible. There were always people watching in his house. The surveillance was nearly as strict as it was at the company. He was so concerned with concealing his actions and the wondrous sensations flooding his body that he almost missed the soft question directed his way.

"Is Yami okay, Onii-san?"

Seto found it within himself to stop and turn towards his brother's voice, his arms falling desperately around Yami, who only struggled lightly in response to the embrace. He blinked once before setting his features.

"He'll be fine, Mokuba," Seto said. "It's just a little heat stroke." Those were the only words he offered as he turned and continued his trek through his house, clinging to Yami as though he were a priceless possession.

Mokuba watched after them before shoving his hands into his pant's pockets, hesitating at the front door only long enough to look over his shoulder and towards Seto's room before closing the door softly behind him. The openness of the outside world was far more inviting right now than the constriction in the home behind him.

_to be continued..._


	4. Clamant

**Let Us Dance  
**_By Ocean_

**Chapter Four: Clamant**

Mokuba hadn't realized where he'd been running to. He knew he'd been running, the jarring impact of his feet against the pavement and the protest of pedestrians he had run into told him that much. But where he'd been running to was a mystery to him until he collapsed against a shop's window and looked up at its sign.

His lungs burned with their effort to pull in enough air to replenish what he had lost. There was a stabbing pain deep within the muscles of his left side, forcing him to grab at the discomfort and bend at his waist so he could focus his thoughts. He stayed prone for several minutes, his pulse drumming in his ears with such intensity he could have sworn he was standing next to a live band.

He tasted the sweat on the back of his hand when he raised it to his mouth, making himself breath through his nose so his breath would stop scraping over his tongue and down his throat. Pulling himself upright took some effort, his blood rushing out of his head with the motion, making him dizzy and needing to brace himself against the window of the shop. Its cool, smooth glass surface soothed his fingertips and was able to extend its calming touch throughout his body.

The moment he had stepped foot out his front door Mokuba had broken into a blind panic, adrenaline flooding him like a sudden rain in the desert, soaking his senses in a muffled silence that secluded him from the outside world. The image of his brother and Yami blurred into a colored mass, and he had forgotten that he was supposed to meet his friends at the local ice cream shop. He'd pushed his way past the front gate of his home, past the man who had tried to ask him what was wrong and down the street, jumping on the sidewalk only when he had to avoid an oncoming car. He wasn't aware of his actions again until the pain in his side forced him to stop running. Now that he was calm enough to think clearly again, the question rose in his mind.

What exactly had scared him so much? And why had he run here, of all places?

Mokuba wasn't used to questions that doubted his actions and revealed the confusion in his mind. His head was wired in the same analytical style as Seto's, which was one of the reasons they worked so well together in the business world. But unlike his brother, he hadn't been forced to rely on his intelligence for survival, and so had had the opportunity to develop a relationship with his emotions. He liked people, cared about them, but not to the extent that their welfare would ever take precedence over his sibling's. He had never been in a position where caring for his brother and the welfare of another clashed. But seeing Yami in his brother's arms at their home... it just hadn't felt right, and he found his concern for Yami trying to outweigh his concern for his sibling.

That was what he was struggling with now. Mokuba had been surprised when he'd seen Seto walk in the front door of their house not thirty minutes ago. Hope had sparked in his chest that perhaps Seto had considered his words and decided to come home during his lunch break so they could spend some time together. Seto's wide eyes and too-quick movements hadn't even registered with Mokuba, and he'd taken several bouncing steps towards his brother until he had noticed that extra body in the room.

Mokuba recognized Yami instantly, the wild head of hair and the abundant blonde strands entangled with the predominant black, combined with the tawny skin identified him. His excitement turned abruptly into concern at the man's sickly pale appearance. Yami was sweating despite the strong air-conditioning in the room. His arms were limp, his eyes closed tightly, and most of his weight was being supported by Seto. He wasn't sure, but Mokuba thought he could hear wheezing every time Yami took a breath.

They weren't friends in the technical sense, but were more than acquaintances, and Mokuba had grown fond of Yami over the years. It wasn't just the fact that he had helped the Kaiba brothers on numerous occasions, dueling to restore the prestige of the company and commit millions of people to the game that Kaiba Corporations funded. Yami had also recognized Mokuba's intelligence and treated him accordingly, seeing him as an individual and not as Seto's younger brother. Such treatment was a rare experience for the sibling.

Despite this fondness Mokuba felt for the Pharaoh, he had always kept his distance as his brother requested. Seeing Yami in his home, looking worse than he had ever seen him, made him worry. Seeing the manner in which he was being cradled by his brother scared him.

Seto was not affectionate. He went out of his way not to touch others or let them touch him in return. But there he had stood, holding Yami, holding _Yami_, close against his side while his hands felt their way over his body. Mokuba felt a fear he had never imagined grip his chest and constrict to the point he couldn't breathe. He'd managed to force out a question as to Yami's welfare, but his brother's quick and uncharacteristically hyper reply served only to heighten his fear and kick start his brain into postulating exactly what it looked like his brother had done and was planning to do.

Tilting his head back to once again look at the shop's sign, he missed seeing a young man emerge from the store and stand on the sidewalk, crossing his arms loosely over his middle and tilting his head into the wind. Mokuba sighed deeply and closed his eyes, wishing that he hadn't run to the Kame Game Shop, wishing that his instincts about what Seto was doing were wrong, and wishing that he had insisted on spending the day with Seto earlier that morning.

"Mokuba?" a soft voice asked, startling him. "What are you doing here?"

Mokuba's eyes snapped open, his jaw dropping when he noticed Yuugi standing just a little ways from him, wrapped in a long, navy blue sweater that was at least two sizes too big for him. The smile on his face was small and sincere, and his crossed arms and relaxed posture radiated the quiet solemnity of his nature. It was such a contrasting presence compared to Mokuba's jittery nerves that he instantly felt guilty for ever trespassing on Yuugi's space.

"Yu-Yuugi! I... uh..." He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to answer Yuugi's question. What _was_ he doing at the game shop? Had it been an accident, just a coincidence that he'd run in this direction? Something in his gut told him that was a lie, but he wasn't ready to believe the alternative.

Yuugi's smile faltered, his forehead creasing in concern at Mokuba's stuttering. He took a step closer to his friend, inclining his head as the alarms began to sound feverishly in his ears. When Mokuba flinched at his movement, Yuugi's mouth went suddenly dry. "Mokuba? What's wrong?" When his question wasn't immediately answered he lost his friendliness. "What's happened?"

Mokuba shrank back from Yuugi, his deadpan voice frightening him against answering. He never liked hearing that tone from his friend. It was too much like Yami and Seto and everyone else with an inner strength that demanded immediate compliance from him. At first glance it may have seemed wrong for Yuugi to have an aggressive streak, but when those blue-violet eyes were narrowed and their color was sharp and more lively than a mass of snakes, one found themselves unable to do more than immediately comply with his wishes for fear of his temper.

"It's probably nothing!" Mokuba said as he raised his hands in front of him, trying to shield himself from the increasingly agitated Yuugi. "A misunderstanding on m-my part!"

"You don't sound very convincing," Yuugi said. "In fact... you seem down right terrified."

"Yuugi..."

"Mokuba." Yuugi closed the distance between them, kneeling before him and resting both of his hands on his thighs. His eyes caught sight of his watch, widening, then narrowing in concern when he noticed how late it was. Yami should have been back twenty minutes ago. He was never this late.

Mokuba heard Yuugi mutter his concern to himself. He quickly raised his hand to cover his mouth, his body shaking. If what Yuugi had said was true... if he had been expecting Yami to be home... then...

Tears of anguish bit at his eyes and a gasp flooded his throat, neither going unnoticed by the observant Yuugi. There was no denying it now, no matter how desperately he wanted to. Of anything it could have been, anything he could have prepared himself for, why did it have to be the one thing Mokuba couldn't defend against?

Why did it have to be that his beloved brother had deliberately lied to him?

"Mokuba-"

"Please don't ask me!" Mokuba shouted. "Please don't ask me! Don't make me do it!"

Yuugi's eyes widened in shock as tears suddenly started racing down Mokuba's face. He reached forward and took firm hold of his shoulders, trying to relay his concern and offer comfort to stop his friend from hyperventilating. He bit his lower lip nervously, his brows furrowing as he tried to decipher the words that sounded like an admission to something so terrible it had Mokuba choking on his sobs. But for the life of him, he just couldn't figure out what Mokuba was trying to say.

"He told me he was fine... just a little heat stroke... he _told_ me!"

Yuugi felt his stomach clench painfully tight, his hands gripping Mokuba's shoulders harshly in response to the fear that now consumed him. For several moments he didn't breathe. Didn't move. He just remained still, the strength of his grip preventing him from swaying against Mokuba. Licking dry lips, Yuugi was able to force out a single, whispered word.

"Who?"

Mokuba snapped to attention, his eyes unnaturally wide as he returned Yuugi's frightened stare. His mouth fell open several times, trying to speak, finding himself unable to in Yuugi's intimidating presence. What could he say? What was he _supposed_ to say? He didn't know how to tell Yuugi his suspicion of his brother's actions, even if Yami was in potential danger. He'd lived a lifetime of protecting Seto, encouraging him, supporting him, counseling and guiding and helping him. Never had he _told_ on his brother. Never had he been in a position where he felt compelled to do so. The tears continued to fall as Mokuba struggled with his morality and his loyalty.

Seto, or the right thing? Why did the two have to be different?!

Mokuba was about to beg again not to have to make that choice when Yuugi jumped to his feet and ran into the game shop. He didn't resist when Yuugi raced out of the shop and grabbed his arm, forcefully guiding him towards his car and pushing him inside. Both were silent as Yuugi burned the rubber of his tires in his haste, Mokuba sensing that any words or actions on his part would only be met with harsh reprimands. There was nothing he could say anyway that would be heard. He knew from the sharp look in Yuugi's eyes that he knew what was going on, or at least understood that Yami was in need of his help.

Mokuba shrank into his seat, uncaring of Yuugi's reckless driving as he veered around cars and ignored all traffic signals. He felt bad enough as it was, and unwittingly agreed with Yuugi's urgency. The comprehending rage he saw in Yuugi's eyes was more than enough warning that nothing had better get in his path as he raced towards Seto's mansion.

As loyal as he was to his brother, Mokuba could not bring himself to divert Yuugi's anger onto him. He knew he wouldn't survive if he did.

This was the first time Mokuba had ever chosen his own welfare over Seto's.

His tears continued.

8888888888888888888888888888

With a faint realization, Seto noticed that he really _did_ have a nice bedroom. The walls were painted with a soft, soothing mint green paint that exuded tranquility. The accents were of cream and beige, pillows and throws strewn casually over the large bed, the reclining chair, the rich hardwood floors, and the intimate sofa that huddled near the alabaster fireplace. It was a warm and inviting room that balanced Seto's harshness beautifully.

He'd never taken the time to admire it before, had never really acknowledged the decorator's efforts after he had written her check. His bedroom seemed different now. Smaller, less intimidating, fuller. Maybe that was because of the man leaning against him in his arms. Perhaps it was little more than his sudden alertness to his surroundings. But whatever the reason, Seto was taking the time to notice how nice he found his bedroom to be.

Blue eyes lowered to observe the chartreuse strands of hair that were feathered over his shoulder, Yami having not moved since the two had entered the bedroom. His hands were clasped loosely over Yami's hips, his grip having relaxed when his captive's struggles ceased. Yami's breathing was slow, punctuated with long periods of silence that brought to him stillness akin to death. His body was supported by Seto's tall frame, his left arm pinned between their bodies while his right hand pressed urgently against Seto's chest. Furrowed brows were the only indication that he hadn't fully succumbed to the drug's efforts to pull him into unconsciousness.

Seto was perfectly happy to stay where he was, standing just inside his bedroom's closed door, opposite the drawn curtains and the blacked-out security cameras. He was finally in a place of quiet and anonymity, and with the one person he most wanted to hold and coddle and just... just be with. This thought confused him, the desire to hold onto and feel another so foreign as to lead him to consider that it had been nothing more than a panic-induced trickle of fancy.

Oh yes. Seto was well aware that at some point his sanity had snapped and that thin line between fantasy and reality had blurred into the reflection of him and Yami standing in his bedroom at this moment. His blood raced through his veins, apprehension burning away with the realization that he was now in the possession of the one force in the universe he believed could help him recapture his sobriety. The heat of his mind and body also alerted him to the fact that Yami was not entirely opposed to the idea and that, on some basic, primal level, agreed with the need.

A soft grunt and shove pushed Seto weakly against the wall to watch as Yami stumbled away from him, having been able to coalesce his thoughts enough to enable him to resist the uncomfortable embrace that trapped him. Seto watched him stumble across the uncluttered room, captured by the body's long, straining reaches as Yami searched blindly for something to hold on to. Seto made no move to aid him, walking closely behind and drinking in every breathtakingly beautiful movement Yami made. He gasped quietly when Yami finally bumped into his bed's post, by the headboard, and came to a standstill.

The drug in his system had effectively stolen Yami's ability for cognitive thought and reason, leaving him to rely on nothing more than the basic instincts of touch and smell, what was soft and comfortable and what was hard and uninviting. Sounds were muffled by the blood rushing in his ears, his vision obscured by opaque clouds of confusion and the inability to focus on any one object. He had a desperate need for... for someone... important, to come and help him. For the life of him, he could not _think _of who that someone was.

Seto licked his dry lips when Yami turned, forcing him, and slowly felt his way down to the mattress. He mirrored the actions when Yami brought one hand to his neck, spreading his fingers over his flushed skin, slowly trying to massage away the tightness in his lungs. Seto inched forward until his folded legs came in contact with Yami's, unblinking eyes not noticing the shiver of insecurity his touch caused in the other.

God, he was _so_ beautiful. His flushed skin glistened lightly as an uneven coating of sweat tried to release some of the dangerous heat in his body. His dark lashes were prominent and inviting, hiding the agitated movement of red eyes behind closed lids. The shuddering breaths drew Seto's attention to Yami's proportioned chest, his eyes unable to resist the temptation to look down the bright shirt Yami wore when he jerked forward as the strength in his arms failed him. There was just so much to look at, so many pretty aspects of Yami's physique that begged Seto to focus on them and not on the pain he kept hidden in his soul.

Seto reached out with his hand, hesitating, finding it difficult to push himself over that final, terrifying cliff, even though the dark chasm at the end held so much promise. Luckily for him, Yami's head bobbed forward at just this moment, when a wave of dizziness disoriented him, bringing his soft strands of hair in contact with Seto's trembling fingers and solving the dilemma for him.

Seto watched in fascination as his fingers moved effortlessly through the ebony strands, not encountering a single snarl or tangle that would delay the incredible full-on touch of Yami's scalp. His heated breath skipped past his parted lips while his palm was tickled and his senses teased beyond recognition with the sensation of Yami's skin, the warmth of the other man's body soothing and pulsing in nature. Yami made a short sound of protest against the hand in his hair that was becoming ever bolder in its actions, now palming his head and brushing strands of hair behind his sensitive ear.

"Shh..." Seto soothed absently, moving himself still closer to Yami, who was now trapped between the bed's headboard and himself.

Yami silenced his complaints, confused that the touches had not stopped when he'd asked them too, like they always did. He wasn't sure what to do, or exactly how he was supposed to be feeling in regards to being touched this way. He didn't want to be touched – he was too hot and his skin felt tight and itchy – but... the touches were soft, a little forceful, curious. Part of him screamed it was wrong. Part of him demanded he pay attention and accept the distractions from how sick he felt. He didn't know what to do. He desperately wanted to know what to do.

Yami slumped against the hand in his hair, the weight of his confusion and insecurity proving too much for his straining body to bear. He whimpered his distress when the hand smoothed its way around to his face, cupping his cheek and chin in a nearly unbearable heat while it supported him. His complaints were met with only more hushes and the gentle massage of fingers against his temple.

Seto leaned forward and pressed his cheek against Yami's, in part to hide from the painful creasing of the other's brow, but mostly because the simple feel of Yami's skin had sent his blood racing like an invading fog laced with electricity. It burned and excited and soothed him all at once, insisting that he experience more of that sensation, that he hold Yami closer and linger longer so he could more fully absorb the other's presence. His body shivered at the closeness. His heart doubled its pace when Yami lowered his head to his shoulder, his heated, moist breath penetrating Seto's skin as it floated around his neck. Seto's right hand remained firmly clasped on his own knee, unable to do more at the moment than telegraph the intensity of his emotions.

"...where?..."

Seto stiffened, the suddenness of Yami's question pushing him into a momentary sense of clarity that alerted him to his actions, but it quickly faded when no other words followed. He sighed deeply, plunging himself back into Yami's texture, using both his hands to hold onto that handsome face and raise it from his shoulder. He brushed both his thumbs over the parted and swollen lips, sighing in pure ecstasy as his imagination toyed with exactly how exquisite that warm flesh would feel against his own mouth. How _good_ it would taste when he ran his tongue over that mouth... _in_ that mouth... how fully those lips would fill his own mouth and soul and the emptiness sucking him dry of all reason. He wanted to be able to reason again.

"... you..." Yami whimpered. His hands rose of their own accord and grasped onto the arms attached to the hands holding his face, fingers digging into the material of the coat Seto still wore. He was beginning to panic, feeling Seto move still closer to him, faintly recognizing that he had no way of escaping whatever the other man was about to do... still not sure if what was happening was something that was supposed to happen at all.

"Shh..." Seto hushed again, low and tender with his voice as he moved forward until he was on top of Yami, leaning over and above him, hovering just a few inches from his upturned face. "Shh..." He folded his legs around Yami's waist, sitting on his thighs as he straddled his lap, falling ever deeper into his crafted seduction.

Molten.

That was the only coherent word that came to Seto's mind when his lips came in contact with Yami's mouth. He didn't press any further, afraid that such action would burn him to his core and destroy all that was left of him. Never had he experienced such pleasure from such a simple touch. Never had he dreamed that just the action of touching lips – not even kissing – could both silence his troubled soul and scream that _this _was what he had been missing. _This _had been the object of his desires. _He _was the reason for everything that had been happening to him, and _he _was the only possible solution to his problems.

Seto wanted more. More of the molten fire, the liquid of desire and passion that swirled and rose and flooded and would eventually crest and break on his shore of vulnerability with all the power and fused energy of a vengeful ocean. So caught up was he with this inevitable conclusion that he did not hear the stressed moan Yami released into his mouth, only feeling the movement it caused against his mouth and the heat the breath inserted into his mind.

He was lost. He was lost in everything that Yami and his mind had to offer. He couldn't think, couldn't comprehend anything beyond the glorious feel of Yami's mouth when he leaned into him, deaf to the grunt of protest and blind to the small struggles that had been awakened by his unwelcome persistence.

The next sound he heard was his own moan of bliss mixed with Yami's desperate whimpers of pleading.

The next thing he felt was a sharp pain on the side of his head, leading the charge as the rest of his right side throbbed in agony from falling onto the hardwood floor. He gasped in shock, blinking rapidly to clear the haze from his vision. Bringing himself to all fours, his mind in a vivid state of numbness, only then did Seto notice that there were two new people standing in his bedroom. Turning his eyes to the side and peering through the brown hair that had fallen in his face, Seto froze rigidly as he was met by the cold glare of two enraged violet eyes.

The dropping of his jaw was the only movement Seto made, paralyzed by the fear of Yuugi's presence and the jarring interruption of his blissful daze. His chest tightly constricted, crushing his lungs and tensing his muscles to the point of causing searing pain. The sudden impact of Yuugi's fist – the one Seto could see, still clenched and being rubbed agitatedly by Yuugi's free hand – had forced Seto not only off of Yami and onto the floor, but had also forced him back into the roaring pond of reality. He had been caught in the act. Discovered. _Exposed_. And he laid on the floor, beneath the man who had every reason to use this situation to his advantage.

Seto caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his vision, eyes doubling in size at the sympathetic look Mokuba was giving him. For a moment he forgot that Yami was on his bed, that Yuugi was seething beside him, the actions he had partaken in and the ones he had planned to commit. All he could see was Mokuba, standing there behind Yuugi, looking small and scared with his head ducked to the side and his arms wrapped protectively around his waist. All he could hear was the frantic beating of his own heart, deafening in volume as a silent communication passed between the two brothers. All Seto knew was that his one chance, his _only _chance at calming the insecurities and fear, at reclaiming his pride of control and confidence, had been stolen from him because... be- ...

"Why, Mokuba?" Seto whispered, voice broken and despondent with the reality that his trust had been betrayed by his loyal, loving little brother. He could feel the sting of tears stab heatedly at his eyes. He didn't care. In his mind, having been betrayed by Mokuba, he couldn't possibly sink any lower.

Mokuba didn't even try to answer, to defend himself or offer a thread of explanation. He could only bring himself to harshly bite on his lower lip to keep the cry of despair from tearing through and shredding him.

Yami's groan slashed through Seto's ears, turning his attention back onto the man lying on his bed. His brows furrowed against the pain the image induced, knowing that he had lost. He had lost at everything. Hiding his pain, his distress, his vulnerability. Hiding his weakness and need to be with someone. Hiding his instability, his fractured ego and punctuated confidence. Not only had he lost, he had also failed. With all his efforts, even though things had been going so well, despite the fact that he had leaned down and tasted the sanity he _knew _Yami could restore in him... he hadn't accomplished anything except ensuring his own destruction.

Seto watched vaguely as Yuugi gently sat on the bed, his body vividly showing the sorrow and agitation he felt. Yuugi grimaced when Yami shrank away from the extra weight on the bed, unable to distinguish that _this_ weight was lighter and familiar. He reached out his hand slowly, not wanting to startle Yami any more than his presence already did.

"... don't..." Yami pleaded upon feeling Yuugi's fingers touch his cheek. He tried to scoot backwards, raising his knees and pushing his feet against the mattress in an effort to get away, which only forced him roughly against the headboard he was already pinned against.

Yuugi's features assumed an odd mixture of controlled rage and calm determination to assure Yami that he was no longer alone. He curled his fingers into his palm and creased his eyes as he fought to figure out what would be the quickest and easiest way to get through to him. He sighed as the answer came easily, muttering to himself under his breath while opening his hand and placing it flat against the front of Yami's face, his palm covering his chin, nose, and lips with his fingers reaching over his eyes and forehead, into his bangs. It was the most intimate gesture they shared, a show of absolute trust and deepest affection.

Yami jumped at the contact, gasping in a gulp of air and opening his eyes, revealing their clouded depths. He breathed quick, deep breaths, and gripped the sheets beneath his hands until his knuckles turned white. But that hand on his face remained still, never asking for more than to simply rest where it was. His brows pulled together as he tried to rally his thoughts into figuring out this latest touch. The part of him that had so vehemently opposed Seto's advances lunged at and wrapped itself tightly around this familiar touch.

"Yuu... aibou?"

Yuugi swallowed thickly, his relief tarnished by the anxiety in Yami's tone. "Yes, baby. It's me. I'm here." His heart ached at the deep, soulful sigh his lover released, and braced himself as Yami leaned forward into his chest, his fatigue overwhelming him. Now that Yuugi was here he knew he was safe, finally allowing himself to fall into unconsciousness.

Yuugi wasted no time in pulling his oversized sweatshirt off and maneuvering it onto Yami, wanting him to be constantly reminded of his presence, even if he was unconscious. He steeled his emotions as he positioned Yami onto his back and stood, one arm wrapped securely around Yami's waist while the other held the arms around his neck. He strode purposely to the door, pausing only when he came even with Mokuba.

"I know this wasn't... easy for you," Yuugi sad flatly, keeping his eyes locked on the open door in front of him. "And for that, I thank you."

Mokuba peaked from behind his bangs to look at Yuugi. He wasn't entirely convinced that he deserved any gratitude, but perhaps Yuugi was willing to try-

"However."

Mokuba's hope that Yuugi would help him and his brother died with that word.

Yuugi turned his head enough to emphasize his warning, one eyebrow raised in accent to his stern gaze. "Neither you or your brother are welcomed around us again, under _any _circumstance." He paused, giving Mokuba the opportunity to understand that he would be receiving no help in repairing the damage he and Seto had done to themselves. "As of this moment, consider all connections between us severed."

Mokuba felt a tear roll down his cheek as he watched his friend walk out of his life. It hurt. It hurt knowing how angry and betrayed Yuugi felt. It hurt knowing that he and Seto were the direct cause of that pain. It hurt knowing that Yami had been so intimately violated, and the person who had assaulted him...

He turned to his brother, who was still hunched on the floor where he had fallen. He didn't even try to get Seto's attention, knowing that the far away look in those blue eyes meant that his brother was in a place he could not reach. Slowly, Mokuba turned and closed his brother's bedroom door, sliding down its surface and coming to a rest on the floor.

If his brother was going to hit rock bottom, then Mokuba was going to go there with him.

_to be concluded..._


	5. Exhortation

A/N: Didn't think I'd get here, did you? Neither did I for a while. But I am happy to announce the conclusion of Let Us Dance. I have revised the previous chapters, seeing as how many of them were poorly written. So in that respect I believe I have maintained the correct tone. I hope this is a satisfactory ending to this tale. I will be writing much more frequently from now on. I thank all of those who have read my writings for coming back. For those who are new to my works, welcome!

I know have an account on user name Oceanspray. Please feel free to see some of my original works.

_- Ocean  
_

**Chapter Five - Exhortation**

The club didn't bother him much anymore. The people were still an obstacle, sure, but he'd become pretty efficient at ignoring what he didn't want to acknowledge.

He was tired of arguing with himself over propriety. To be concerned with the cares and stares of others wasn't worth his effort or his time. His company took care of such appearances anyway. Hadn't you heard? It was in the news. His corporation was fine. His brother was fine. _He_ was fine.

That had become his new word as of late. Fine. It was the first word he'd said to his brother on that night he'd fallen. It had been the last word he'd said to his company not an hour before arriving at the club. It was a façade that worked pretty well. Not a word strong enough to insult, but a word that carried enough weight that others would not question him further.

He was the great Seto Kaiba. The strong, invincible, successful, and triumphant Seto Kaiba. And he was fine.

Seto took a long drink of his Tangoray Collins, enjoying the smooth bite of the vodka as it dulled his senses and his presence further into the corner of the club. His coat he'd flung carelessly over the empty chair at his table; his shirt collar was unbuttoned three holes down. He'd long since lost track of the number of drinks that had burned his throat and warmed his belly. Some amount close to ten, somewhere.

He chuckled to himself. Seto not knowing the exact number of something was funny.

Tapping his finger against the table, Seto closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to dance along with the harsh pulse of the music. It was exotic and smooth, heavy and sweet-tasting like the pungent aroma of sex, drugs and rock n' roll. The hypnotic lights flowed behind his eyelids and soothed him, lulling him happily into humming a tune that two months prior he hadn't even known existed.

Having a nervous breakdown hadn't been such a disastrous affair as Seto thought it would be. It was actually quite liberating. He didn't have to work at his façade anymore. It took place naturally now that there was little to distract it into breaking. Being Seto Kaiba, president of Kaiba Corporations, was a piece of cake. Cake. Hmm.

Seto opened his eyes and called a waitress over. He really had a sweet tooth when he drank.

Mokuba didn't call him anymore. He'd tried, for a while, but eventually Seto's aloof and indifferent attention was too much for Mokuba's heart to handle. He still lived at the house, but he and his brother lived entirely separate lives. Business was all that brought them together, five, ten minutes a day. That was all. That was enough.

What was going on with his little brother Seto didn't know, and this didn't bother him as much as he thought it should. How far did the tie of loyalty stretch? How far down into the rabbit hole was Alice supposed to fall? And once down at the bottom, she'd found that the rabbit had deceived her – how much should she be willing to forgive?

It was an interesting question. Seto wasn't interested in the answer.

A man walked by his table, the aroma of tobacco following in his wake and lingering around Seto. The smell made him nostalgic, reminding him of the carefree days of his childhood before his parents' death. Days where he indulged his fancies and chased after his impulses. It sounded like a nice place to be. He was done with his dessert anyway, and had to get up to take a piss.

Ha! A piss. A phrase he'd never dared use before. Seto said it out loud, once, just to feel the taste of it on his tongue. He chuckled at the tingle it left behind and got up to take care of business.

It was an uneventful trip, but he got the job done and managed to bum a cigarette and light off some guy before making his way out to the back alley. He wanted some fresh air to absorb himself in.

8 8 8 8 8

Seto leaned against the opposite wall facing the club. The side door bounced against its frame in protest against his stumbling passage. Music reverberated down the narrow alley in strange, reversed echoes that grated on his nerves. He missed his pocket once before shoving his hand into it and pushed away from the wall.

The push as too much for his inebriated senses to handle, causing him to bend forward at his waist and windmill his arms for balance. Once achieving poise he stopped with feet shoulder-width apart, took a deep breath, pushed his palms downward, and shivered. That whole experience had almost been fun.

Seto sniffed when he smelled smoke. He looked down at his hand, a curious expression on his face as he was reminded of his cigarette. He brought it to his lips and took a long drag. That thick, disgustingly bitter taste was wonderful for the nerves.

A shiver ran up his spine, jerking Seto's limbs and torso foolishly. Balancing his cigarette between his lips he turned around with the intention to pace. He saw a dark spot on the ground, a shadow cast by the lone light that hung above the back entrance to the club. He followed the darkness with bloodshot eyes to brown tennis shoes, continuing the trek up over jeans and to the face of the owner of the shadow.

Yuugi was rigid, tension bleeding from his eyes and throughout his body. His eyes were narrowed in barely restrained contempt, and their color was blackened in the darkness of the alley. His lips were taught and firm; a thin line that crossed his face.

Yuugi was too much for Seto to comprehend. In a momentary absence of control his jaw disengaged. "I'm drunk," he blurted out around his cigarette.

Yuugi didn't react to the comment, though Seto was confused by it. He repeated the phrase silently, mouthing the words to himself. Stringing them together he got their meaning and grimaced.

"You-!" Yuugi started, taking a step forward. "Yo-!" He shook his head quickly, clenching his eyes against the malice he wanted to unleash on Seto. Yuugi pushed his palm to his forehead and forced himself to calm down, hissing air between his teeth.

Seto stared at him unblinking and removed the cigarette from between his lips. The shock of Yuugi's unexpected presence and his own admission of being drunk had afford him an surprising moment of sobriety.

"Keep that bottled up too long and you'll burst," Seto mumbled. He flicked his cigarette ashes casually to the side, belying the nervousness that jittered inside.

Yuugi grunted out a humorless laugh. "You'd know, wouldn't you?" Seemingly back in control, Yuugi carefully placed his hands into his jeans' pockets and stood at a three-quarter angle to Seto.

"Quite," Seto laughed quietly, mussing his hair. He wasn't as intimidated as he thought he might be in front of Yuugi. He would have understood being embarrassed, resentful, or even something so far as righteous. But amused? That was certainly a new comer on the block. Seto decided that instead of fighting the moment it would be more fun to enjoy it.

"Cigarette?" Seto offered.

Seto watched Yuugi for a moment before Yuugi walked up to him and took the proffered cigarette from his hand. He was able to maintain eye contact with Yuugi when the cigarette was put to the smaller man's mouth. Yuugi inhaled evenly and released the cigarette back into Seto's possession.

Seto found himself hypnotized by the ease of Yuugi's inhalation and the cold sideways glare he was being given. Yuugi pulled his lips to the side to direct the smoke he exhaled away from Seto's face, which caused Seto to raise an eyebrow in question to the considerate action as Yuugi backed up to his original spot.

"I'd never considered you the type to smoke," Seto commented.

"Nor you the type to fall," Yuugi returned. "Yet here you are."

Seto shrugged. "It was a change of pace."

"A _change_ of-?!"

Seto flinched. Perhaps that had not been the best thing for him to say to a defensive Yuugi.

"Do you have _any_ idea what you've _done_?!" Yuugi raised his voice to a near shout that reverberated down the alley, releasing the torrent of his pain and anger. "You violated _everything_ we had. All those years of fighting together and for what? Was it all a lie? Just some damn game you were playing to satisfy your ego?!"

"I-"

"No!" Yuugi interrupted immediately, shaking his finger with rage. "You don't get to talk. You don't get to say _any_thing. Because I don't think you have a clue what you've done!"

What remained of Seto's pride rebelled against being told he wasn't allowed to do something. Breakdown or no, he was still Seto Kaiba. No on told him what he could and could not do.

"Who do you think you are?" Seto seethed, tightening his eyes to glare at Yuugi. "You haven't any idea what you're talking about! No idea what it's like! Have you forgotten that _I_ am the one suffering here?!" His outburst rushed the blood to his head, forcing a headache behind his eyes and ears that swam with the alcohol in his system in dizzying arrays of pain and sickness.

Yuugi stared disbelievingly at Seto, his jaw working silently to express his shock. When Seto took an agitated drag of his cigarette, visibly relaxing as the nicotine did its work, Yuugi marched forward to grab the offending object and threw it to the ground.

"What in hell makes you think this is about you?" Yuugi asked, his voice suddenly dark and calm.

Seto blinked, confused. He turned his head to the side and watched Yuugi from the corner of his eye. "Are we… talking about the same thing here?"

"You're even dumber than I thought you were. No wonder you let this happen." Exasperated, Yuugi began pacing with his hands running stiffly over his face and through his hair.

"Let?" Seto repeated. He didn't like the taste of the word on his tongue and made a face at its sourness.

"You know you did," Yuugi said quickly. "Don't try to play the victim here. You knew something was wrong and chose not to do anything about it. Nothing _legal_ anyway. Coward." Yuugi muttered this last word under his breath, putting a stop to his pacing when he reached the far wall from the club. "Selfish coward."

"Coward?" Seto growled. "_Coward_?" His hand clenched into a fist around his cigarette, crushing the thin paper and tobacco grinds. He grimaced when the lit end bit into the flesh of his palm and jerked his arm away from the burn. He glared down at the cigarette that now laid next to his foot. What was Yuugi getting on about? Acting like some judgmental jackass standing on a high hill. Yuugi spoke with the confidence of a man on a righteous charge, free of blame and guilt and by all means free to accuse.

Seto had never been called a coward. He'd had many titles, but never one so damning and forthright. Maybe he was a coward, or had been at some time in the past. The point was, the point _was_, where once he would have been offended-

A lopsided smile pulled at his mouth until his face resembled the twisted grin of a comic book's mad scientist. This was all just too much. Maybe it was the alcohol or the nicotine, but Seto had the insane urge to laugh until he was hysterical with fatigue. Instead, he shoved both hands into his pockets – missing twice – and toed out the embers of his dying cigarette.

"It's all like some child's attempt at a plot," Seto chuckled. "There's no continuity to it. None at all." He turned his head to look Yuugi in the eye. "This has nothing to do with you Yuugi. You don't want any part of the crap in my head." Seto started to turn back towards the club and his next drink waiting inside, but paused when he heard Yuugi's quiet voice.

"He won't let me touch him," Yuugi said. "Not even on the arm. I'm not allowed to touch him anymore."

Seto turned back towards Yuugi and raised his eyebrow inquisitively. "Not allowed? You mean you need his permission?" When Yuugi didn't respond he continued. "But… but you told me that _he_ didn't need _your_ permission for anything. Why would it be different for you?"

"Don't you know?" Yuugi asked softly. The anger had dissipated from his voice and his shoulders slumped from the released tension. "Don't you know anything outside yourself?"

Seto was hesitant to respond. Yuugi's sudden shifts in mood were difficult for him to follow, and it wasn't because of his inebriation. There was something personal in these shifts that Seto couldn't place. An invitation that his self defense didn't want to receive. He hated it when Yuugi did this to him, offered this friendship-like thing that allowed Yuugi to reveal insecurities and demanded Seto to do the same. He never had figured out how to defend against it.

And what a question for Yuugi to ask. He couldn't keep a multi-billion dollar gaming company afloat – let alone prosperous – if he didn't know what the public wanted. Of course, his advertising department helped people know what it was they wanted, but they wouldn't be successful if he didn't hit some chord within his customers. As for anyone else… he was broken and Mokuba was absent. Yuugi was pissed and Yami went on with life. There wasn't anything else he needed to know. But as he rolled the question around his brain and thought of Yuugi's previous statement about Yami, he found his ill-fated curiosity stirring in his stomach.

Seto furrowed his brow as he thought. "The double standard here, it, it doesn't apply to him not touching you," he reasoned out. If it did, Yuugi would have risen to the bait. So it must be something else. Seto cringed, then frowned in annoyance at his next thought. "Don't tell me he feels _dirty_ or some cliché shit like that?" he demanded.

Yuugi shook his head once, eyes hard but face neutral in expression. "No. He doesn't feel dirty about something he didn't do." He looked towards the club's door for a moment, then back at Seto. "He knows it wasn't his fault."

Seto huffed. "Blames me, huh? Figures," he muttered, covering his face with his hand. "I'm handy that way. A damned perpetual scapegoat. It's his fault too, you know," Seto said as he peeked through his fingers at Yuugi. "You realize this."

"I do not," Yuugi said evenly.

"Oh come on," Seto scoffed. "He didn't exactly fight me. He didn't prevent it either. I may have helped him along, but he came with me willingly."

Seto blinked hard after his mouth stopped moving and looked at Yuugi, whose mouth was pulled down in a frown, one eyebrow raised in accusation to what had been said. Swaying on his feet and having to consciously regain his balance, Seto dropped his hand from his face and stared at Yuugi. Even _he_ couldn't believe the ease with which his mind had worked to spin the facts of the event to waylay responsibility away from himself and make it seem as though Yami had been a coconspirator. Amazed by his own audacity, Seto raised both his hands in front of his face with fingers spread and slapped his cheeks.

"Sobering up?" Yuugi asked.

"Sobering _down_, maybe," Seto answered quietly. He shook his head to collect the final pieces of his sobriety and turned bloodshot eyes down the alley. "You'd better hurry this up Yuugi or else you're going to be talking to a passed-out C.E.O."

"Fair enough," Yuugi agreed. He removed his hands from his pockets and took a deep, relaxing breath while he pulled on his jacket and straightened his collar. These visual cues of power and control made Seto's nerves fidget instinctively and his stomach churn. "He blames me, you know. For all of this. The worst part is that I think he's right."

That was it. That was the last curve in this conversation that Seto was able to follow. Folding his legs beneath him, Seto sat down and balanced his chin in his hands. It didn't matter that he was sitting low, or that Yuugi would literally be looking down on him. But if he was going to be able to interact on any level of intelligence he couldn't be bothered with the act of standing. "As I've said before. He's an idiot."

"That's what you call me. You call him intolerable," Yuugi said.

Seto shrugged. "Same thing to me."

"He sees me as weaker than you now," Yuugi continued. He interrupted Seto's response to that statement. "He'd never say it, but I get it. I let this happen to him. I didn't see the warning signs and I didn't take action to prevent it."

"But that's just stupid," Seto said quickly to prevent Yuugi from interrupting him again. "You don't control me. How could you control my actions? How could you be _responsible_ for them? Shouldn't I be the one he blames? I should be the one he blames. _I_ did it." Seto bit his lower lip. Arguing for the purpose of acquiring blame wasn't something he was used to doing. It appeared that no matter the situation, his ego simply couldn't let a lousy argument go unchallenged.

"If you say so. Of course," Yuugi sighed, "what you think doesn't matter to me. So I have to correct this before he gets any further from me." Yuugi took the few needed steps forward to place him directly in front of Seto and kneeled in front of him to eye level, one knee higher than the other. On this higher knee Yuugi rested his right hand, letting his fingers tap purposefully against the denim of his jeans. "I have challenged you to a duel, Seto. It will be held in two days at noon in front of your corporation. And it will be televised."

Stunned, Seto could only nod his head once before the depth of the situation took hold. "What do you mean, you _have_ challenged me?"

"I've told the press that this is just another duel for the title of Game King. You know better, I hope."

"What do you want?" Seto asked with a dry mouth.

"Your company."

"My comp-…?" Seto gritted his teeth as he gathered himself to stand. He fisted his hands, his arms shaking with the rage that burned at the attack on his pride. "_My_ company? How dare you," he seethed.

Yuugi watched Seto from his seated position, gauging his reaction before standing. "You'll stay in charge, naturally. You'll run the company and be its face and make the decisions. I don't want to be involved in any of it. But, you will know that it is _me_ who owns it all."

"You mean _he_ will know," Seto spat. He felt like punching Yuugi when he nodded calmly. "All this is contingent on me agreeing to the duel, and I have done no such thing. Why would I?"

Yuugi exhaled a soulful sound as he turned and walked to the club, pausing with his hand on the outer edge of the door and his eyes on the ground. "I was hoping you'd understand by now, Seto. I really was hoping." He raised his eyes. "We will duel in two days, and I will win. And I will get him back."

"You think so? You think he'll accept you then? You actually think you'll win with my company at risk?" Seto crossed his arms over his chest and stood tall, daring Yuugi to consider the possibility of winning a duel against him. Of all the things he had lost confidence in, his faith in his dueling ability was not one of them.

The remaining threads of sympathy Yuugi held slithered away into the darkness of the alley. His voice dropped a note, leaving no room for doubt in his resolve. "You've already lost Seto Kaiba." With that being said, Yuugi slammed the door away from him and entered the club.

The words stung Seto, over and over as they repeated themselves in his mind. Yuugi was right. His loss was already absolute. They both knew was in no condition to duel, and yet dueling was the only arena Yuugi could use to win back Yami's respect. It sounded so cheesy in his ears, this so called romantic gesture Yuugi was taking at his expense. It was damned unnecessary. No one person could possibly be worth so much effort. There was a niggle in the back of his mind concerning Mokuba but it wasn't heard over the torrent of emotions in Seto's heart.

Now what was he supposed to do? Cry? Rage at the unfairness of it all? Going inside the club and drinking himself stupid sounded vaguely appealing. Highly appealing. In fact, that was exactly what he was going to do. It was better than standing in the alley like the looser that he was.

Seto was blocked from entering the club by a short brunette and a microphone. The light from the camera held behind her hurt his eyes and he raised his hand to block the light. He squinted to try and see what was going on, taking note of the reporter in front of him and just barely able to make out Yuugi's silhouette disappearing further into the club.

"Excuse me sir! We have just interviewed Yuugi Motou and were wondering if you have any comments about the upcoming match?"

Seto lowered his hand and looked past the reporter, ignoring her. After pursing his lips, a small smile flickered over his features. "Well played," he murmured.

"Sir?"

Seto took one look at the reporter before pushing past her and to his table. "I have nothing more to say."

_- End_


End file.
